


The day the writers got way, way too high

by zsomeone



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Crack, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dethklok is all mixed up and badly miscast.  They’re still <i>them</i>, but with the talent of the position they’re now in.  Well, sort of anyway.<br/>I am an addict, this is my crack.  But the good news is, I share.<br/>Warnings: Well, it’s crack.  So there’s some semi-fucked up shit in here, but nothing <i>too</i> bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The day the writers got way, way too high

“That schounds like schit! Jeez, could you play any wosche if you tried?” Lead guitarist William Murderface turned on his poor rhythm guitarist yet again.  
“Hey! I’m like, a guitarist too!” Nathan was tired of being harassed, but he knew his large hands would never be quick enough. Why’d they have to put the strings close together anyway?  
Their manager Skwisgaar Skwigelf intervened, trying to keep the peace. “Now Murderfaces, I ams sure dat he ams trying as hard as he cans.” He was sitting on the studio couch, a handful of contracts he couldn’t decipher in one hand and really old chick on the other. He had been trying to get her to help him read them.

Toki the Drummer stood up. “Shuts up and plays, Moiderface!”  
Skwisgaar shot him a grateful look, and when back to having his GMILF to define words for him.  
Charles rolled his sleeves up further, and nodded to Toki to count it off. They played the song yet again.  
Jean-Pierre, their producer, sighed and tweaked the soundboard with one badly reassembled hand. Charles’ voice just didn’t have enough power without a little digital help. The would _never_ finish the album at this rate.  
It went a little better this time. Not great, but they at least got through it.

Song over, Pickles put down his bass and picked up his bottle. He didn’t care if he got wasted and played like shit, Murderface usually mixed just him out of the albums anyway.  
Charles went over and collapsed on the couch next to Skwisgaar, who was no longer wearing pants. (This was because he was now getting a blowjob from his GMILF while still attempting to do his paperwork.)  
Nathan went over to help Pickles drink, which annoyed Murderface. “Schure, juscht get drunk! I alwaysch end up recording both your partsch anyway!”  
They ignored him.

Charles called him off. “Oh just let them drink, I think we’re done for the day. I know my voice can’t take much more right now.” He wasn’t a fucking robot, after all.  
The GMILF raised her head and grinned, Swedish cum dripping from her toothless mouth. “You tell them, Dearie! You have to take care of your voice, you hear?” Rooting around in her purse, she offered him a cough drop. It had lint stuck to it.  
Charles recoiled in horror, and suddenly had to urge to join Nathan and Pickles in their drinking.  
Skwisgaar put his pants back on.

****

It was dinnertime, and Skwisgaar wanted to have a band meeting. He knew it was better to wait until they had their food though, so that’s what he did.  
A spandex-clad color-clashing thing that was their chef came in bearing plates. “K-k-k-yeah! Who’re h-h-hungry?”  
Chef Rockso might be hideous to look at, but no one could cook better. He did a lot of cocaine, in fact he was paid in it, but it didn’t effect his ability to whip up simply amazing dishes.  
Skwisgaar waited until they were all happily eating.

“You guys, I ams tinking we has de problems. Dis whole contracts ting... I can’ts be understanding anys of it.”  
Nathan dared speak. “Uh, maybe you should figure it out? Because that’s what we pay you for?”  
“Schut up Nathan. I’ll tell you what, you can be in charge of schnacks. How’sch that?”  
“It blows. But whatever.”  
Charles held out his hand. “Let me see them Skwisgaar, I did go to college, after all.”  
“I has a superior Scandinavian education.” He refused to pass them. “Dis meeting ams over.”

They wandered to the couches to watch some tv.  
Murderface was practicing his guitar, as usual, but then he dozed off. Nathan was glaring at him, he never practiced and didn’t see why Murderface felt he needed to.  
Pickles was drunk again, but nobody ever paid much attention to him anyway. (Okay, him and Nathan both.) Charles, Murderface, and Toki wrote all their music, and refused to let them help. So they just played whatever Murderface told them to.

Suddenly a robotic-eyed guy jumped into the room, striking a disco pose. “I’m Dick Knubbler the Rock N Roll Clown! I’m tripping balls!”  
Skwisgaar looked at him. “Knubblers, you am not wearings any makeups. You ams nots de clowns.”  
Knubbler patted his cheeks. “Well crap, I must have put it on my mirror instead of my face again!”  
Toki the Drummer grinned. “He’s so funnies!”

Seeing that Murderface was half asleep, Knubbler went to sit beside him. Sticking a hand down the lead guitarist’s pants, he whispered in his ear: “I’m tripping balls.”  
Murderface jumped up with a manly shriek (and an erection). “Who let thisch damn clown wannabe in here again?”  
Pickles raised his latest bottle. “It was prab’ly Toki, dude. He likes clowns.”  
Skwisgaar just pointed. “Gets him outs of here, medium styles.”  
Knubbler was dragged from the room by a few of the oh-so-obedient gears.

And then the writers.. The writers... they were too high to keep writing? Or too drunk. Or too both...


End file.
